


you are a past sinner

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, kinda fix it fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 23:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14460345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: Beth is mad as hell, Rio shows up. They kinda make up.





	you are a past sinner

**Author's Note:**

> this was a total last minute thing. Pardon any grossness and errors.

She started breaking things an hour ago and she hasn’t stopped.

 

Annie helped at first, then declared she needed to go to a bar instead, and left Beth, deeply focused on annihilation. They’d hauled Dean’s things into the garage--every single thing he owned that didn’t have a picture of the kids on it--and she started ripping and breaking. The trophies were the most satisfying to snap apart. 

 

She looked up at the sound of the front door opening in the distance. She’d sent the kids to overnight camp, Dean was at some conference she didn’t care enough about to pay attention to, and she’d been fired from her life of crime, so there was really only Annie. 

 

“What’d you forget?” She called, blowing a hair out of her face before stabbing a signed football with a pair of scissors.

 

There was no response, only the sound of footsteps coming closer and then, “Need a hand there?” 

 

She looked over her shoulder and for a moment, her heart jumped up to her throat. She thought about the last time she saw him, and the fear and anger she was filled to the rim with. She thought of running, perhaps using the scissors as a weapon to defend herself, maybe apologizing for accosting him with those keys--but, she was still angry, still raw, and considering the only things she cared about were at sleep-away camp, she really didn’t give a shit about apologizing. 

 

“What do you want?”

 

She dropped the ball and scissors, and picked up a set of beer mugs she them smashed on the floor with a huff. 

 

Meanwhile, Rio had made himself inside the garage and taken a seat in Dean’s favorite chair. The one she’d already introduced the scissors to. 

 

“Is that safe?” He asked. 

 

“Meh, consider it a gift.” 

 

Rio snorted, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

 

“Aren’t you here to-- _ get your house in order _ , or whatever? The mess will add authenticity.” 

 

“You think I’m here to kill you?” He exclaimed and actually had the nerve to laugh. 

 

Beth picked up a bat and and finally looked over at him. “Aren’t you? You don’t just fire people from your line of work. Just do me a favor and let me wreck this car first, okay?” 

 

She walked over to Dean’s old Mustang, grabbed the sheet permanently covering it and pulled it clean off. 

 

“Damn,” she heard Rio say. 

 

When she looked over, he was picking at the stuffing sticking out of the armrest. 

 

“You stabbed the shit out of this chair. What did the car man do?” 

 

“Lied about having Cancer. If you must know.” She swung back, the passenger side window broke on contact. It felt so good she couldn’t help but laugh. 

 

Rio winced. “That’s a nice car, though.” 

 

“He never even drives it,” she bluntly retorted, dropped the bat and then searched the floor for the scissors, kicking shards of glass around and finally spotting them under a pile of shatters, “he just kind of--wipes it down and looks at it sometimes.” She reached for them, but Rio beat her to it, brushing her hand away to carefully pull the scissors out carefully.

 

“You’re going to cut yourself,” he said and the concern in his voice threw her for a moment, knocked her off her manic destroyer mode and she blinked back the surprise, quickly averting her gaze the moment their eyes meet. 

 

She was careful not to touch him as he handed her the scissors. “Thanks.” 

 

She turned back toward the car, pulled the back door open, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, more specifically, of being watched by Rio. She turned back to him and found that her rage tank had been replenished. 

 

He was sitting back comfortably, fully lounging in the torn up leather chair, watching her with that same crooked grin she’d learned to hate-love. 

 

“Why do you do that?” She snapped. 

 

“Do what?”

 

“Look at me like you’ve got a pretty good idea of what I look like naked.” 

 

He shrugged and without missing a beat, replied, “Just picking up what you’re laying down, I guess.”

 

She rolled her eyes and he laughed. She really wasn’t in the mood for this flirtation of theirs. She really wasn’t in the mood for the way her body still reacted to him despite everything. 

 

“You’re an attractive woman,” he explained, “you’re going to tell me you don’t know when men look at you?” 

 

“Men don’t look at me like  _ that _ .”

 

“Not even your husband?”

 

“Especially him,” she answered quickly, then pointed the scissors at him and said, “and  _ you _ don’t get to look at me like that anymore. And you don’t get to just show up in my house anymore either.” 

 

She hated the way her emotions showed, but she was emotional before he showed up. His timing really was impeccable.

 

“Elizabeth--”

 

“Nope!” She held her hand up and shook her head at him, “Don’t--say that.”

 

“Your name?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I like it too much, and I’m really mad at you.”

 

He didn’t say anything back. He just--stared at her, the look of appraisal slowly evolving to something else. Something a little darker. She was almost intimidated,  _ almost _ , but not quite. But she  _ was _ unnerved, by his audacity, the way he showed up after turning her away so easily. 

 

“Oh, my god, what do you want!” She demanded and instinctively tossed the scissors aside. 

 

Without missing a beat, he countered with, “What do  _ you _ want? Why do you want in so badly? It ain’t all about your family, so don’t give me that.” 

 

“It  _ is _ .”

 

He slowly stood up and walked toward her.

 

They’d been this close before, a couple of times with a gun between them, but now, now there was just his expectation and her stubborn refusal to admit anything to him. She stared back and said nothing. 

 

He smiled. 

 

“You like this too much. You get high off of it. Does it turn you on?” 

 

She considered denying it, telling him to go away and go back to taking her frustrations out of Dean’s car. But Rio looked at her in that way he often did, and she had enough bourbon in her to forget about her reservations about him. 

 

“Does it make you wet?” He asked and she inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring a little at his words, as the back of her neck tingled.

 

Still she didn’t reply. She simply stood there and looked at him, daring him to touch her. 

 

“Are you wet right now?” He asked. 

 

It had occurred to her that he was young. She didn’t know how young, but younger than she was. It was a thought she had almost as often as other thoughts of him plagued her and kept her up at night. 

 

She’d really thought when and if this ever happened, it would happen in the kitchen, as that’s his favorite place to surprise her in. But the garage turned out to be just as good. Better, even. 

 

Her back hit the wall with just enough force to get a sound out of her, which was enough incentive to bite his lip hard enough to get a reaction. He bit her back and she hissed and smiled against his mouth, moaning when pressed himself harder against her. 

 

She felt hot, on fire; maybe because she couldn’t even remember the last time someone touched her, or maybe because she had some crime kink she’d just discovered. It didn’t matter. Somewhere, while they were kissing, he’d gotten her pants unbuttoned and sipped a hand down her underwear. 

 

The moment he slowly circled her clit, she threw her head back and her eyes rolled back as she moaned--loudly and whining. She’d be embarrassed if she weren’t enjoying herself so thoroughly. 

 

“ _ God yes _ , that’s good,” she groaned and he whispered something in her ear she didn’t hear. He bit the side of her neck, hard, and palmed her breast with his free hand. She shivered and moved her hips against his hand.

 

She slipped a hand between their bodies, past his working wrist, and cupped him through his jeans. 

 

“Take off your pants,” she whispered harshly-- _ and when had she become so breathy _ ? 

 

“Wait,” He said, and pushed her hand away, “just trust me.” 

 

“Why? You don’t trust me.” She shouldn’t have said that. She realized it the moment she said it, but she was done settling and keeping her mouth shut. 

 

His hand stopped and she felt a chill as he drew back; she was reminded of the other night outside the warehouse and she was pissed all over again. 

 

So was he--if that glare was anything to go by. 

 

“You ever shut up, Elizabeth?” 

 

“No. Do you?” 

 

He shook his head, smirked. “Nah.” 

 

He spun her quickly but she caught herself in time and pulled her own pants down, the gentle clinking sound of his belt being undone making her ache with anticipation as she placed both hands flat on the wall and braced herself. She heard the distinct sound of condom wrapping. She thought about commenting on his presumptuousness but his hands were on her hips, and he was inside her before she could say a word.

 

He stilled against her, his breath heavy against her cheek as he gently tangled his fingers in her hair and then sharply pulled and turned her head enough to meet her lips in a demanding kiss. 

 

She hated what a cliche this was; this desperate, sweaty, half dressed sex against the wall. But there they were, fucking each other senseless in the midst of Dean’s broken belongings. She’d had stopped to examine it, except he had one hand around her neck and the other between her legs, and all she could think of was to demand more, and harder. 

 

He groaned into her hair and she was past the point of measuring the volume of the sounds she was making. He angled his hips, pushing in a little deeper, his hold around her neck tightened just a smidge and she sobbed as her body stilled suddenly and then shook. She gasped and reached aimlessly for something better to hold onto as it kept going; she felt it drip down her thighs.

 

She couldn't’ speak, couldn’t warn him that her legs were this close to giving out on her, but his hand left her neck and he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her to him. A few short strokes and a guttural groan later he was finished and they were left panting and and slumped against the wall. Two disheveled, sated messes. 

 

It was just about the point where the awkwardness would set in, where they’d have to face what they’d just done.

 

His voice was hoarse and even lower than usual when he spoke unexpectedly, “It was business. The truck. I had to make sure.”

 

She nodded, licked her licks and took a deep breath. “I get it.”

 

“Give it a week. Make it look good. Then you and your girls can come back. I can’t look like a whipped bitch. It’s bad for business.” 

 

She smiled over her shoulder and shrugged. “Fine.” 

 

“Cool.” 


End file.
